


This Life is a Lie and So Am I

by Inevitable_Compromise



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Kinda, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, Virtual Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inevitable_Compromise/pseuds/Inevitable_Compromise
Summary: Perhaps they should have read the fine print before signing their lives away to Team Danganronpa... As far as they knew they were actually going to die.Ouma Kokichi had come to accept death twice now, had deemed himself worthy of suicide and yet there he was, still alive.Somehow...
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 168





	This Life is a Lie and So Am I

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many random bits and pieces of drafts for different things that I'm surprised that I even managed to finish this... Half of it was stream of consciousness writing at 5 am, though, so apologies for any mistakes. This is my first time posting any of my stories, so I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> This is loosely based on works by Rovelae, so you should definitely check out their stuff. 
> 
> Their writing is far better than mine, too, ahaha.

It seemed to Saihara Shuichi as though Ouma Kokichi was turning into more of a liar of omission than a liar of commission, though still a liar at his roots. The type of person to stand by the sidelines and be content to watch the world pass by, silently judging and learning from others' mistakes, from what Saihara could gather. Exactly what the Ouma that he had known prior was not. The very Ouma who made an entire room focus on his short stature and too-thin body by having the biggest presence in the room. 

Though he seemed to hide it as well as he could from the prying eye, piping up with stupid comments and snarky remarks, sometimes even more than he had during the game itself, his remarks more sardonic, if that were even possible, the hate in his voice more realistic. But despite this, it was easy to see that he was even more tightly strung than he had been in the game, constantly fidgeting to draw attention away from trembling hands, biting his lower lip in a fashion that could almost be described as nervous, spacing out more. It was as if the Ouma he had come to know and accept had been force-fed a triple shot of anxiety, self-loathing, and melancholy that he no longer recognized as his own. Because he wasn't his own person, was he? 

Neither was Saihara, albeit in a totally different fashion. Why was he no longer as empathetic? Why did he watch people now as a source of mere entertainment as opposed to a pursuit of the truth? It disgusted him. And in turn, that disgust intrigued him. A newfound boredom warred with a heavy moral compass within him; literally two different people and their separate ideals trying to coexist within one body. ...Except it was the same person with different traits of one personality. An inquisitive personality, as a matter-of-fact. Team Danganronpa can't just make new personalities, they just recycle old ones and equip them with different morals and motives. Selfish, greedy bastards. 

Thinking of that with Ouma was … strange, to say the least. It made sense. Mostly. Was Ouma always that tense and he was just incredibly good at hiding it? In both instances, he uses lying to his advantage and seems to agree with the practice of it, which definitely checks out. But the idea that so much anxiety could have always been ingrained in the Supreme Leader's personality is an interesting theory indeed. Definitely not a boring prospect in the slightest. Christ, he's starting to sound like Ouma himself with the whole "boring" versus "entertaining" concept he had clung on to for his villain complex. If only Saihara's version was as simple as Ouma's lies.

Speaking of Ouma…

Bouncing a bouncy ball back and force was an excellent pastime for him these days. Honest to god fantabulous. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, throwing the ball back and forth as though he were playing a miniature game of handball against the wall of his room. Well, his new room. Not that disgusting workaholic highschooler's bedroom, or that marginally worse prison game room. No, he was in his new _new_ care facility room. Yeah, this place should really change its name with how little they seemed to actually care.

Christ, would he ever be able to reside in a room that he didn't actively dislike? 

He really didn't think he was even all that hard to please, but all his rooms seemed to be horribly unappealing in their own respective ways. 

Ugh, everything from the lavender walls, to the violet patterned quilt atop his bed, to the gaudy amethyst curtains over the windows covered in tasseled trim. Everything except for the time not covered by the floor rug and the ceiling itself was purple.

So much purple made Kokichi want to just bleach his hair if it meant never seeing the color again. Hell, he might even rip his eyes out of their sockets at this point, since not only were they purple, but they forced him to see the ugly color so much.

Why the so-called care staff thought that themed rooms would be a good idea he would probably never know. 

There were a lot of things that he would never know. 

Finally tired of his incessant and noisy game of mini-handball, he threw the ball somewhere behind him carelessly, hearing it roll under his bed a few moments later. He then forced himself to get to his feet, the cold tile sticking to his exposed legs, his shorts barely reaching past his thighs. _Why had he chosen to sit in the part of his bedroom that wasn't covered by the big rug, again?_ Maybe because he felt just that numb, who was to say? 

Upon getting up, he saw spots in his vision that he had grown accustomed to, lightheadedness swarming him as he made his way over to the expanse of tile actually covered by the plush, plum-colored rug.

It wasn't as pleasant as one might think. It smelled of gauze and the medications they gave to him, generally forcefully.

He felt none of that angry resistance at the current moment. He felt weak and numb and bored with life as he leaned onto the bed frame for support while he looked through the neighboring rickety nightstand that was a nasty mauve. The sensations of his fingertips barely registering as he dug through the drawer. Maybe he should feel fortunate that he didn't have angry PTSD surrounding everything, that he didn't have panic attacks from the guilt, or break into tears upon seeing the classmates he had a hand in killing at the mandatory meals. It made him feel like an insensitive monster. At this point, he wished to be anything other than numb. He could take emotions on the outside all he wanted, but that didn't change the cold emptiness he felt inside. He had come to accept death twice now, had deemed himself worthy of suicide and yet there he was, still alive. _Why_? 

But the question of whether he wanted to die now, at this current moment, as an amalgamation of two barely connected people, repulsively tarnished in their own ways, both content with letting others kill him was a question he had yet to answer. He was probably a coward for never just offing himself in the first place, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He hated himself. _So what?_ Get in line.

Maybe until he made a concrete decision, no matter how cowardly it may be, he could try to give himself some sort of feeling again, in some sort of form. His inner arms, currently covered by a jacket for that very reason, were littered with deep scars of just that sort. Ones he was given false memories before of fights and parental abuse that never happened. The _real_ truth behind those scars were from the same frivolous coping mechanism he was currently turning to. _Hell_ , it may have been the reason he had chosen that one in particular. Though with absolutely, positively different motive. 

Back then: Anger, sadness, and desperation, all hidden emotions that drove his self-hatred. Fuzzy memories that he had to forcibly recall lest they interrupt what little sleep he actually got. It was ironic, really, he felt as null and robotic as he had aspired to be before signing up for this stupid mindfuck of a game. Nullifying emotions as though he didn't have them evolved to glossing his numbed emotions with new ones, thanks to the unsightly technology of Team Danganronpa. Only to devolve into genuine emptiness when the game was all over

He pulled the razor blade stashed into a pair of socks that none of the staff had asked about. _Knowing how unprofessional they were, it wouldn’t surprise Kokichi if they hadn’t even noticed it._ If that wasn’t proof that Team Danganronpa didn’t give a shit about their participants, he didn’t know what was. This care facility obviously didn't know what they were doing, but then again, did Team Danganronpa even know what _they_ were doing? Fucking with people’s heads until they were broken pieces left in places like these. Using kids as pawns by having suicidal teens sign up for the death they wanted, when only the fine print said they were signing up to survive with severe trauma. 

Then they just dumped them off at what were practically private mental hospitals, and cheap, inexperienced ones at that. Quick, easy, and allowed them to work on season fifty-four and make a fortune more, despite the show Saihara and the others had put on to try and stop the franchise.

Whatever, that was neither here nor there. It wasn't like Kokichi could do too much about it, especially not as of current. There was no use in crying over spilled milk.

Sitting on the edge of his clearly overused bed, he pulled his flannel jacket that had shaped over his arms off. It was purple, too. _Ick_.

He traced his fingers along healed scars and new scabs alike.

It was easy enough to steal medical supplies that he generally wouldn't need like rolls of bandages, and he was lucky enough that rubbing alcohol and such items of medicinal purposes were already in his room due to the injections he had to have. He just had to be careful about how much he used. 

Without further ado, he pressed the blade against the pad of his thumb, the coldness of the metal distracting in an almost dangerous sort of way. He didn't bother starting soft when he knew the cuts would increase in severity, anyways, he only felt satisfied when the pain was overpowering. _Why prolong the inevitable_? He could apply that phrase to other areas of his life ironically enough. 

He pushed the blade against his upper arm, not wanting to get swamped back into the cesspool of lackluster thoughts in his head. He pulled away quickly, creating a deep wound right of the bat. The way the warm blood oozed slowly almost warmed some of the overwhelming numbness constantly suffocating his skull. It was always _almost_. How many ' _almosts_ ' would finally fill a fraction of that hole? _How many wrongs would finally make a right?_

If the bloody array of fresh cuts were anything to go by, then it would take a hell of a lot. _Was it even worth it?_

The second phase of the pain was pouring rubbing alcohol (sparingly) into open wounds. The way that it burned brought a comfortable kind of contentment that always faded as quickly as it had originally come. 

A roll of bandages later, and he was fully dressed, wearing a checkered hoodie because of _course_ that would be what they supplied, over a purple graphic t-shirt, accompanied by a pair of black jeans, and _purple_ shoes. 

He had tidied up his mess long before the nurses had come to retrieve him. The doors weren't even locked, he just didn't have the motivation to go anywhere else whilst he waited, his feet kicked on the bed as he stared into space for the umpteenth time.

Following behind the nurses, he put on that facade of energy, skipping behind them as though he were excited about the forced group dinner. 

He picked at his food as he always did. Even back at the academy, he did so, and even back before that. Perhaps it was why he had always remained so thin. _Having a sense of control in a constantly uncontrollable life by having complete control of what he ingested?_ As fucked as it was, it fit in with the rest of his messy life pretty well. 

He still kind of ate, having the buttered bread and the dessert part of the meal, spreading everything else around on the plate and shoving pieces idly into napkins. While he played with his food like the child he pretended to be, at least some of the others tried to keep the air of familiarity, Saihara, Momota, and Harukawa were talking, though Saihara seemed less anxious than he ever was in the game, Harukawa always kept switching from murderous to sympathetic glances when looking over at him, and Momota seemed tenser, as though he were holding back anger and impulses that wanted to surge through.

_Momota_. Thinking of him, in particular, sent a pang of regret through his system. Almost as cold as the unforgiving metal press that didn't hesitate to press his body until it was crushed into an unrecognizable mush. He felt almost guilty for not talking since he had the other kill him, but the awkward tension only seemed to grow each day they didn't talk. And Momota hadn't made any effort to talk to him either. 

He supposed he'd stay petty… for the time being at the very least. If he even made it too much longer...

Some friend groups weren't as cohesive as Saihara's. Yumeno ate with Chabashira most days, and Yonaga when Chabashira put up enough of a fight to be allowed to stay in her room. Ouma would probably do the same if he were half as strong as Chabashira and if he didn't care so much about appearances. A lot of things would be easier if he just didn't care at all _so why did he_? 

Even though Chabashira and Yumeno ate together, they didn't particularly get along. It seemed as though both did it out of guilt or force of habit, most likely just trying to find some balance of normalcy and their apparently plastic lives.

Some people forgave, like Amami and Akamatsu, and some people didn't, the way Iruma refused to talk to him or Gokuhara. 

Ouma ate alone, sitting at the corner of the table next to an actual human Kiibo that seemed at the very least partially amused by the normality of his teasing when he felt like doing so. Turning to the former robot with a smirk, he decided to start a small conversation. It was better than sitting in silence, _right_?

"Hmm, say Kiiboard, I have a question for you."

Responding with a bemused smile he replied, "Do I have a choice?"

"Nope! I was just thinking, what's it like being able to taste food again. Y'know, because the producers were robophobic enough to make you a robot and all. That must have been preeeeeetty boring!" 

_Teasing_ , he could do it no matter how much the world fell apart. It was programmed to be second nature, after all. 

He really did wish he still took pleasure in doing it.

…  
When they were finally dismissed, they were allowed to roam the premises but heavily encouraged to watch the movie of the night. 

Kokichi went in the opposite direction, disinterested in another family-friendly movie to “boost morale”. 

The balcony, though a common spot for Ouma, was not as nice as it could have been, mostly because of the safety glass put in as an anti-suicide measure.

_Because that was obviously common in a place as disgusting as this one…_

Though they were to be discharged in time, after their group therapists seemed them to be "healthy" enough, as though they would be fixed and easy as that, other casts from other games were on other floors of this building suffering the same thing. The thought made his stomach churn.

Looking down at the city below them, he couldn't help but think how much easier it would be to let his last moments be watching that view get closer and closer. _Sickeningly similar to the metal getting closer and closer to his face, until it consumed him whole._

_Would anyone even miss him_? 

The nurses had gotten comfortable enough with them that they probably wouldn't even notice Ouma going back and forth a few times to drag enough chairs to the balcony to stack so that he could make it above the safety glass. 

It was definitely a possibility …

But no dice.

Fate decided for him, as it always seemed to. 

Saihara Shuichi stood in the doorway of the balcony, timidly approaching Kokichi, though the shyness almost seemed more for looks than genuine apprehension.

Not having the energy to pipe up and comment on the other's presence, he ignored him turned back to the busy city below through the cold glass. It was _objectively_ a nice night, he supposed. The gentle breeze that brushed across his face and rustled his hair made him want to stay out there longer. It was almost… nice. Despite the fact that the safety glass made it seem like they were locked away from the world, looking at it through a window. Something they could see but never truly be a part of.

"You're not too interested in the movie either?", Saihara asked, looking out at the view from next to Kokichi. 

" _No_ , I love that movie, Saihara. _Yeah_ , tonight's movie sounded boring," he replied in a way that was more sarcastic and abrasive than his ingame personality by an obvious margin. Whether it was due to his pregame components or how numb he was of everything at this point, he couldn't tell. 

Saihara nodded, not commenting on how much snarkier he tended to be, almost as if his witty remarks were more forced. Ouma didn't comment on how less and less seemed to phase Saihara when his sociopathic tendencies had kicked in. It seemed to be an unspoken agreement to at least _try_ to make things normal. Pretend that they weren't struggling to have an identity, all of them toys left behind by an industry keen on ripping another set of impressionable teens to shreds. 

"Great minds think alike, huh, Saihara?" Ouma asked. "We both could have locked ourselves in our rooms, and instead we both ended up here…", he suddenly let out a sharp gasp, "It's like we're soulmates or something! Whaddaya say, Saihara?" He swooned at the other, turning to dependable tricks to make things less awkward.

"Erm…", Shuichi hesitated, "I don't know about that, but… the feeling of fresh air is definitely calming for me. I wouldn't say it's too much more than that..." 

They watched the city in deceptively calm tranquility for at least a few minutes before Saihara broke the silence. 

"Ouma, I was curious as to your opinion on this… _Do you think things will ever get back to any kind of normal?_ ", a tone of desperation almost seemed to resound within his voice. 

Ouma himself gave no recognition that he had even heard Shuichi's question besides a soft sigh of breath. 

After a few moments, he laughed bitterly. It sounded genuine. "Was anything ever normal to begin with? We all lived shitty enough lives to sign up to be killed. Which personality even deserves to live more, the one that signed his life away to die or the impostor forced in to take his place? Is there anything normal about that?", Kokichi responded in a tone dripping with resentment. He was tired and empty and maybe he should be dead. At this point, he couldn't even tell who he had been referencing. It was supposed to be Shuichi but it fit himself just as well. _Because they were all freaks in the end._

"Mm", Shuichi replied after a small while. I figured you might say something like that…" he laughed dryly, "And you're entirely right." 

They stood in the other's presence quietly after that. It wasn't entirely comfortable, but it wasn't exactly horrible either. They were _fucked_. And there was nothing they could do about it. It made them have a connection in an almost hopeless kind of way. Both of them had given it their all and done everything in their power to beat the system, only to realize that they never had any input on the system from the start. 

_Perhaps this was the despair that Danganronpa obsessed so much over. The feeling to just give up and let to._ But hell if Ouma was going to label it as such because _fuck_ Danganronpa in any and all aspects. 

He just wanted to stop feeling empty. He waved goodnight to Shuichi when he dismissed himself. He waited patiently, watching to make sure that no one was around, triple-checking every vantage point before he proceeded. Ge shut the balcony doors gently to muffle the noise. This _should_ work, but if it didn't he didn't want to have to suffer more for it. If it was noisy, it hopefully wouldn't matter because he would be gone before anyone could react. 

Taking one of the metal forks used at dinner that he had slipped into his pocket earlier, he started. Seriously, giving teenagers with PTSD from a murder game metal utensils probably wasn't advisable anyways, even if they didn't do something nearly as insane as what Ouma was currently doing. 

He stabbed into the glass with a vigor he didn't know he had left in him, just wanting to feel that sweet escape, to end his numbness. So he stabbed. Again, and again, and _again_. Letting the stabs become as robotic as he _felt_. Again and again, until he felt blisters forming on his hand, until he felt sorer and sorer, the pain giving him a sensation that made him smile. 

_Man, these nurses really were unprofessional if they still didn’t notice anything._

A sick sort of satisfaction welled up when spiderweb cracks started to fill the glass, it had taken too long for that to finally occur. When the glass was weak enough, he kicked it, watching it fall with a morbid kind of contentment. 

_Would this really be freedom?_ _Perhaps he would finally be able to find out..._

Ouma Kokichi looked out at the city that he was no longer locked away from and jumped to join it.

Only to feel a former detective's calm hand catch his wrist and stop the world from rushing up towards him.

**Author's Note:**

> As I said earlier, I've never posted any of my drafts before, so please do feel free to critique me in the comments. We'll see if I manage to post anything else anytime soon. Suggestions welcome ^^


End file.
